


On the Menu (Being used never felt that good before)

by merle_p



Category: Leverage
Genre: Episode Related, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-29
Updated: 2009-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 18:33:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merle_p/pseuds/merle_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot tries to hide from Maggie, but she finds him anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Menu (Being used never felt that good before)

**Author's Note:**

> Written March 2009.  
> Spoilers for 1.12 _The first David Job_ and 1.13 _The second David Job_.  
> _Leverage_ belongs to TNT and Devlin/Downey/Rogers; if it belonged to me, I'd make Eliot take his shirt off far more often.

It's not a lie when Eliot says that he feels used after the thing with the fake coffee date, but it's not the whole truth either. Fact is, he also feels a little guilty.

And not so much because it was Nate's ex he was hitting on, because hell, it's not as if he did it on _purpose_ – even if he still catches Nathan throwing him strange looks once in a while, more brooding than angry, and hell if he knows what _that_ is about; trying to make sense of Nate gives him a headache on a better day.

But he likes Maggie – she's a classy woman; so much classier than any girl he's ever hooked up with, and classier than a lot of the guys; a real lady who's been through a lot, and it just feels wrong to lead her on.

So, in consequence, when Maggie gets on board and practically moves into the safe house-slash-palace that Hardison bought in what obviously was a bout of mental derangement, Eliot does his best to avoid her.

He knows he doesn't have to be worried about her – the girls are keeping an eye on her anyway: Parker because she actually likes her (if the way she keeps randomly petting her is any indication), and Sophie because she's trying to figure out how much of a threat Nate's ex-wife is going to be.

No, he isn't ignoring her; just keeps out of her way and figures it's probably what she'd want anyway. So when – while he's busy testing out the awesome five burner touch control electric cooktop (black with stainless trim) that Hardison has been shamefully neglecting – someone sneaks up on him from behind (something the others have learned long ago not to do anymore), he just acts instinctively, whirling around, fist clenched around the carving knife.

"Whoa", Maggie says, sounding a lot surprised and not just a little frightened, hurriedly taking a step backwards and raising her hands placatingly.

"Sorry", he says awkwardly, carefully setting the knife down on the kitchen island, and shrugs. "Old habit."

She laughs, a bit shakily. "And to think that I believed you were an awkward, innocent art expert."

"I'm sorry about that, too", he says honestly. Apparently, his strategy of avoidance hasn't been very successful, so he might just as well say what he has to. "Look – I didn't know who you were when I first talked to you at the party, I swear. But then, you know, with you being Nate's ex-wife and …"

"It's fine", she says, smiling slightly. "I get it. You are loyal to Nate." She sighs, delicate fingers playing with the hem of her half-transparent white cotton blouse. "He was always good at winning people's loyalty."

Eliot doesn't know what she expects him to say, so he keeps silent. He does turn around to switch off the burner, though. The chops can wait a while longer.

"It's a shame, though", Maggie continues, while he's still fiddling with the controls. When he straightens and turns back, she's suddenly a lot closer than she was before.

"Because I meant what I said, you know. About not dating a lot." She laughs quietly. "And with or without glasses – you _are_ pretty hot."

He clears his throat. "Thanks, I guess." He wonders if he should return the compliment, or if he _could_, without sounding tacky and trite.

But before he can make a decision, she edges even closer, smile slightly nervous and shy.

"Are you going to stab me if I touch you?" she asks, and it sounds as if she's not quite sure herself if she's joking; although there's a trace of determination in her eyes that wasn't there before.

"Maggie …" Eliot growls. She's close enough that he can smell her – no perfume, just shampoo and soap and a hint of sweat –, and her scent mixed up with that of spices and raw meat makes his mouth go dry. He reaches out – not sure if he wants to keep her away or pull her in – but she makes a decision for both of them, steps forward into his space, and then he's got a hand in her hair, another on her waist, and his mouth is on hers, their tongues moving against each other hungrily.

"You know that this is crazy, right?" he groans when they break apart, spit and chapstick smeared all over her face, and probably his, too.

"I know", she breathes, and reaches down to unbutton his shirt with shaking hands. "You guys are such a bad influence."

Her pussy isn't shaved, golden curls spilling out between her legs when he lifts her up on the counter and pulls down the plain white panties she's wearing under her skirt. He likes it that way – someone proud to be a woman and not pretending to be a girl – and he bends down and buries his face in the nest of curly hair, before he shoves two spit-slicked fingers into her, thumb over her clit until she's squirming.

Then she sits up on the counter and helps him get rid of his pants, her hands impatient on his thighs, his stomach, his cock, and he barely remembers the condoms – the ones he knows Hardison is keeping in the cupboard behind the frying pans (a pointless attempt to hide them from Parker, most likely) – before he just lifts her up, into the air, to drag her down on his straining cock.

She clings to him, arms around his neck, legs around his waist, naked heels digging into his back; panting breathlessly against his throat as he penetrates her, moves against her; holding her weight up with both hands under her ass, spreading her open at the same time.

"God, you are strong", she says, sounding awed, voice gliding from moan to chuckle and back. "Had a boyfriend once who tried to do this. Almost broke his spine trying." She groans when he pushes up, rakes short, sharp fingernails over his shoulders, his back. "Always wondered what I would have felt like, though."

Eliot chokes out a laughter. "Good thing that you met me, then." He lifts her again, slams back into her, and then they are not talking anymore while he fucks her, right there in the kitchen, in broad daylight, one ear and eye on the door.

***

"Damn, that was good", she says afterwards, slipping back into the panties he picked off of the floor for her, straightening her skirt.

He laughs, pleased, not so much because of the compliment (he isn't one for fishing), but because he likes the way she says it, heartfelt and satisfied.

"I really would love to do this again", she continues, and sighs. "Too bad that Nate is such a possessive prick."

"Nate. Right", he says, and he can practically feel his stomach tie itself into knots, because here come the complications he'd have really liked to avoid. "You are not going to tell him, are you? Because I really wouldn't want him to try and kill me. I'd hate to hurt him, you know."

She laughs, amused and knowingly, and he is about to tell her that he wasn't joking when she says: "You know that I'm not talking about me, right?"

He shakes his head in confusion. Maybe he has actually fucked her stupid, or maybe it's the other way round, because he really has no idea what she's talking about.

"Uhm, what?" he asks, and she sighs, as if he's trying her patience.

"Why do you think Nate made you wear the camera for our date?"

He raises a brow. "To make sure I wouldn't do anything I wasn't supposed to?"

She shakes her head, smiling wistfully. "You really have no idea, don't you?" She steps close and leans in to kiss him, firm, but chaste. "I'll have to tell him to be more obvious from now on."

***

Eliot stares after her when she leaves, shoes in her hand. Then he scrubs his hands in the kitchen sink before he picks up his knife and turns back to his soon-to-be lunch, because the others will be home _eventually_, and he's starving.

And he is not at all thinking about what Maggie said, or what she could have meant.

He is busy stirring the mushrooms when he feels that he's being watched again. He turns around, and it's Nathan, leaning against the door frame, staring at him from across the room.

Eliot feels himself flush. "You are back", he says, voice huskier than he intended, and while the wooden spoon is steady in his hand, he cringes inwardly.

"This smells great", Nate says, pushing himself away from the door, walking into the room, and Eliot thinks that he _does_ look kind of hungry.

"Thanks", he replies automatically, concentration back on the stove while he's taking the pan off the heat. He's still watching Nathan from the corner of his eye, though. He's not naïve enough to hope that everything will be fine.

"So", Nate says, leaning against the kitchen island right next to Eliot's elbow, voice demonstratively casual, and Eliot braces himself for what is about to come. "I just talked to Maggie."

Eliot slowly sets down the spoon, eyes still on the food while he turns off the stove once again. He breathes – a resigned, deep sigh – and then he looks up.

Well. The knife is at hand, and there are still a few condoms left in the box: He's ready for whatever he's going to find in Nathan's face.


End file.
